


Fractures

by Actias



Series: Mycroft tid-bits [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Flashbacks, Holmes Brothers, Mycroft Feels, Oneshot, brothers being brothers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:28:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28036185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actias/pseuds/Actias
Summary: Mycroft fetches his brother in his prison cell. Right before the plane scene in His Last Vow. In a way, the reason why Mycroft was so silent and why he didn’t notice the drugs. His past haunts him, and I suspect it will leave a mark on him forever. For better or for worse.
Series: Mycroft tid-bits [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/542512
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	Fractures

**Author's Note:**

> I was digging through my old stuff and thought I'd post this. It was originally intended to be printed in a Mycroft fanbook a few years back, but the project never came to fruition. Enjoy!

Shouting. And… Crying?

Footfalls tumble down the main staircase. The slam of a door. More shouting from the next-door room.

“Mycroft! Upstairs. Now.” Mother calls from the hallway.

He looks up from his lunch in confusion. What happened? What happened _this_ time? He leaves his half-eaten sandwich rather dolefully on his plate and lumbers up the stairs. 

Second-floor bathroom. Painfully white light. Bright red on the floor contrasting it. The knife on the counter, as stained as the petite arm of Eurus standing there in her light blue dress.

“What are you _doing_?!” That second lunch suddenly feels like a very bad idea.

She perks up. Her blue eyes pierce through him like an eagle hunting its prey.

“I wanted to see how my muscles worked.”

Eurus uses a large bandage as a towel to wipe the blood out of her incision. She’s calm, if not annoyed that fresh blood always seems to replace what she is wiping off.

“Don’t you feel pain?” Mycroft manages to whisper out.

She takes a step closer to him, presenting her arm. With two precarious fingers, she pulls back as much skin as she can.

“Which one’s pain?” She asks.

Mycroft’s face pales. His stomach turns. He has to run out of the bathroom and shut himself up in his bedroom with a garbage can. He retches, the sound of a siren in the distance.

o.O.o

He's standing there in the background not sure what to do. Behind him, Musgrave is burnt to ashes, its gables black as crow's feathers. Sherlock is sat silently between the gravestones. They are his lonely friends. His eyes are red and puffy from crying all night. Mummy and daddy are by the road talking to uncle Rudy. Their backs are hunched slightly, understanding the reality of what they're about to do. Uncle Rudy is holding onto Eurus’ wrist tightly. The young child is staring around her, not quite sure of the situation or how everything ended up this way.

_They were all supposed to be dead._

Mycroft looks at her little sister drive off in a black car. There's a silent pact formed between them when their eyes cross. It will take a while for the elder to forgive the younger. It will take a while for the younger to acknowledge the elder. She had always taken him for granted, dismissed him as someone would a tree in a forest. That was about to change. For better or for worse. 

w.V.w

He jerked up in bed. It took a while for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of his room. He flopped back down with a sigh. Out of all the nights to have that dream, he wished it wouldn't have been today. Reluctantly he got up and into the shower, then dressed methodically and slowly. He tightened his tie slightly uncomfortably. It was a distraction he needed. 

_Clank._

He stepped into the cell. The concrete walls echoed his footfalls. There were no words to be said as both men locked eyes with each other. They had known one another for so long. The two of them against the rest of the world. The only other person that could truly understand what the other was thinking. Most of the time. _If lies weren’t being said to the unsuspecting other._ Mycroft broke off first, staring at the point of his umbrella on the floor. 

“I'm sorry,” he said. The words were as bitter every time he uttered them. _Maybe worse today_ , he thought. 

“Stop apologizing. It's making me sick. I pulled the trigger, not you.”

“I should have known better, I should have stopped you, I sho—.”

“Yes.” Clear blue irises. “You could have dealt with him a long time ago.”

Mycroft swallowed. The closest physical reaction he would get to a wince. His brother continued, “ _But you could not have stopped me_.”

Though the reality of that statement was true, it was not something that he could easily acknowledge. Sherlock stared at him intently through red-rimmed eyes, the product of countless sleepless nights. 

“I wanted to keep you safe…” Mycroft trailed off, his voice rougher than intended. His younger brother groaned in exasperation and leaned back on the cold concrete wall. 

“Stop,” he said. His head hung forwards, dark curls flopping in front of his eyes. _As dark as Musgrave’s gables._

Mycroft swallowed again, this time looking for eye contact with his cadet. 

“You never understood, did you?” he whispered softly. He was conscious that his voice gradually bordered anger and frustration. “You have no idea what you are to me.”

Sherlock flashed his eyes up to meet his. They matched his brother's. Mycroft kept going. 

“Do you have any idea as to how long it took me to get to where I am today? Do you have any clue as to what I sacrificed?” his words came out as a hiss. “And all for what?” he said almost despairingly. “All for nothing,” his voice held a rare intensity to it. He had taken every opportunity he could to keep his family safe, bereaved from any more trouble. _That had hardly been the case,_ he thought bitterly. A junkie detective brother who ran off whenever it pleased him, a little sister’s existence whom he hid under his parents’ noses. What a cursed life he had chosen to live.

Pain, regret, anger, everything mixed and swirled in the elder Holmes’ eyes. Their blue became tempestuous, something Sherlock rarely saw and nearly dreaded. They receded, like they always did, behind dark black unforgiving pupils. The tide was waiting to lash out, surely at the next person to stand in his way. 

“I did what I did,” Sherlock said evenly. 

“Yes. And I accept.”

Did he? After everything was said and done? 

A beat of silence.

“Is it time?”

Mycroft stepped to the side letting his brother pass through. Sherlock stood by his brother for a second, their bodies perpendicular to each other. He waited to see if his brother would move but Mycroft stood emotionless, his back straight, his hands clasped on his umbrella, waiting. Sherlock shook his head and stepped out. If this was to be their goodbye, then so be it. 


End file.
